


And a Braid for Love

by Blue_Sparkle



Series: The Daily Lives of Mahal's Children [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dwarf Customs, Grief/Mourning, M/M, injuries, mention of violence, mentions of background character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cut your beard for loss, and your braid for love."</p>
<p>Dwalin's contemplations on why some Dwarves would cut parts of their hair, while others cut it all off in grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Braid for Love

The first time Dwalin remembered seeing someone’s hair cut in mourning he was too young to even have fluff on his cheeks, and Erebor was still standing strong and proud. He remembered sitting on a large balcony that looked over the market place, at the backside of a nice little teashop. The owner always baked fresh sweets so Dwalin never grew bored when his mother decided to take some tea there after taking a walk with him.

The Dwarf in question wasn’t very old, but her beard bore veins of silver that stood in contrast to the chestnut of the rest of her hair. She wore only a few braids, those which marked her a leatherworker, and black ribbons woven through the hair, which marked her a widow.

Those things Dwalin knew, but what caught his attention that her hair was the shortest he’d ever seen before, without even being styled in any particular way. It barely covered her neck, and she wore it even shorter than the Men Dwalin had seen in the markets of Dale. It wasn’t cut very well, with uneven strands and some sticking up in a weird way. It was unthinkable that a Dwarf would wear their hair like that, and yet nobody seemed to stare at her as the little boy did from the balcony.

“Amad,” he said, still staring at the Dwarf who was talking to a vendor. “That Dwarf over there. Why’s her hair cut like that? She still has her braids.”

Lawara looked up at her son and then followed his gaze until she spotted the Dwarf he was talking about.

“She must have lost someone dear to her quite recently. You know what they say, cut your beard for loss, and your braid for love.”

Dwalin frowned, trying to remember if he’d heard any particular examples of that. Young as he was in those days, he didn’t even know anyone who’d experienced such a loss.

“But don’t you cut… bits? You cut a few strands cast them into the wind. Not-” he blanched a little at the thought, “- _all_ of it?”

Lawara sighed and raised her hand to ruffle Dwalin’s hair.

“Oh my sweet, that is indeed the custom among Longbeards and Stiffbeards at least. You can never know why a Dwarf might choose to cut so much, or why they might chose to always keep it short, but it is a very personal matter, and a very public display as you see. It is so rarely done, most would only cut as much as you need for a little braid when your shield mate falls.”

Dwalin was still frowning, trying to process that information. He decided that he would just let the matter rest for now, still more interested in the rasberry cake his mother had bought him, but he cast one last glance at the short-haired Dwarf.

*

When Erebor fell, many lost braids and beards to the singeing fire. Dwalin was no longer a child, and he saw many braids cut that day, small fistfuls of hair cast to the wind. Everyone had lost someone to the dragon.

He saw Thorin take his knife to cut his beard short as it had been decades ago for the very first time. It wouldn’t be the last time he did so, mourning for the mountain he swore to see free of the dragon’s destruction one day. 

Dwalin understood those who chose to cut their beard like this. He understood those who didn’t. He tried it himself, cutting some of his beard off, and letting the wind carry it from his palm and away, scattering it.

It did not make him feel like his sorrows carried away, or like Mahal might comfort him. There was no closure in this for Dwalin, so he would never try it again.

There were other ways to express his sorrow.

*

In more than a century of seeing different Dwarves with different lives, Dwalin never saw another Dwarf with their hair cut in mourning for love. He saw plenty with widower’s braids, and many whose hair was short for style, and some who might have lost it to fire or shame.

He saw Dís, her eyes swollen and red and her breath hitching from how hard she must have cried, tugging and pulling at the mess her hair was in, after Víli had died. But even she did not cut it, and merely wore broad ribbons of crude cloth in her hair, nearly disappearing in her curls.

Perhaps, Dwalin supposed, it really was foolish to off your hair so drastically because of lost love. _Any_ form of self destruction was foolish.

*

Sometimes Dwalin was quite grateful about meeting the thief, even if that event had been accompanied by a bowl hitting him straight in the face thanks to an overturned cart full of pottery. If somebody had told him that one day he would find Nori in his bed, content and peaceful and very much naked, Dwalin would have broken their nose for such a stupid joke.

And yet, here he was, warm and half asleep, with Nori stretched out across his chest. Nori was so relaxed Dwalin couldn’t help but think that somehow the thief must have melted.

Dwalin had thrown an arm around Nori’s lean body, so much smaller than Dwalin in every way, cradling him gently. For a while he’d thought that Nori must have fallen asleep, so he gently started running his hand through Nori’s soft tangled hair.

“Mmmm, never stop that,” Nori whispered almost immediately, and Dwalin froze for a moment before running his fingers through it gently once again.

“You have the prettiest hair in all of Ered Luin,” he told his lover. “Prettier than Dori even.”

Nori laughed against Dwalin’s chest but didn’t say anything to that. There were few who would deny that Dori was objectively more beautiful in every aspect than anyone else, and Nori never protested when his brother’s praises were sung. He did preen very much when Dwalin praised him honestly though.

“I never want anyone else to do this,” Nori said after a while, and Dwalin hummed and raised his eyebrow.

“I never want anyone else to hold me like this and play with my hair.”

Nori’s elaboration was spoken quietly and Dwalin held him closer.

“I’m honoured,” he said dryly, but when Nori went on his voice sounded so vulnerable and honest, it made Dwalin’s heart clench.

“No but I mean it. You are so gentle, always so careful and… appreciative. You _are_ rough when I beg but never too much, never hurting. I never want _anyone’s_ hands in my hair like that again, they won’t measure up anyway. I love… when you play with my hair, I love it.”

He laughed and kissed Dwalin’s chest.

“Besides, nobody is as good at petting my head as you are.”

Dwalin chuckled and pressed his lips to the top of Nori’s head.

“You’re lucky I love doing this then.”

He didn’t say more that night, but it was the moment he realized that he might truly love Nori, and not just the moments they met.

*

The battle was a mess of blood and mud and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. They were so close, _so close_ to taking back their mountain, their birthright and all that had been lost in the great calamity of Smaug’s attack, and here they were once more, fighting tooth and nail against hordes of Orcs and Wargs to protect what was theirs. 

Dwalin mowed down enemies left and right, his shoulders aching from the effort and the impact of his axes against flesh and armour. 

A spear got lodged in his thigh early on, and though he had managed to tear it out and tie off the wound the rush of the battle was slowly starting to not be enough to keep him going easily. 

He tried to be everywhere at once, protecting Thorin with all he had, keeping an eye out for his brother and cousins, attacking any particularly important looking Orcs that seemed to be shouting orders. 

It all didn’t matter. As many Orcs as Dwalin managed to fight off, there still were hits he couldn’t block, and he felt sick and numb from pain. He didn’t really think they would win anymore, or at least he would not live to see the mountain safe. He could live with that, he could die knowing that he had given his last breath to fight for his people. 

Dwalin knew his last moments on the battlefield had come when he found himself facing an Orc with scars twisting their face into an impossible grimace. The Orc was astride a Warg, saliva dripping off its sharp razor like fangs, a morning star clutched in their fist. 

Dwalin managed to land a heavy blow on the Warg’s skull when he was charged, sending the beast reeling off to the side, but he could not turn quick enough to block the swinging ball of metal and spikes. 

It hit him in the back, denting his armour and knocking him down into the mud, axes still in hand, somehow. Dwalin spit blood and gasped for air, trying hard to get up and deal the Orc as much damage as he could, as the rider steered the Warg in a tight loop to charge Dwalin once more. 

With his heartbeat thundering in his head Dwalin glanced off to the side, trying to find the company to see if anyone was there, if anyone was still standing. 

The one he saw was Nori, running over the uneven ground and leaping over fallen soldiers easily. His knives were a silver and black blur as he lashed out at any who came too close, easily slicing through flesh and breaking weapons. An Orc caught up with him in the few seconds Dwalin stared at him, an ugly clawed hand gripping Nori’s tightly woven braid somehow, causing the thief to scream in anger and raise his hand to stab behind him. 

Dwalin didn’t see the blade find its goal, as the Warg rider was upon him then, swinging that bloody morning star once more. There was only enough time to crack his axes down on both the Orc and the beast, before the blow sent Dwalin flying back again. 

There was no way for him to cling to consciousness after that, but Dwalin found his last thoughts going out to those he had been fighting with. He hoped Thorin might hold the mountain soon. He hoped Balin would find peace there. 

Most of all Dwalin wished desperately for Nori to live to see the end of this day. 

*

Everything was pain, sharp and cutting through him in irregular stabs. 

Dwalin tried to speak or cry out, but he could not feel his tongue, much less make it obey him. 

Was this how Mahal’s Halls were going to be like? Full of pain and the memory of how he died clinging to him even now? 

He could hear voices and somehow Dwalin wondered if he was merely sleeping, as some of it reminded him of the noises of a lazaret, muffled and slurred. If somebody was touching him, taking care of his wounds and if he was alive, Dwalin couldn’t tell. He could not feel any part of his body; the pain was the only thing that reassured him that he felt anything at all. 

Perhaps he was drifting in and out of consciousness, but without feeling or seeing anything it was hard to tell. 

When Dwalin finally woke up properly, he still wasn’t sure if he was alive at all. He couldn’t keep one eye open, as it was swollen shut, and there was very stiff bandage around his thigh and chest. 

He groaned quietly, feeling how dry his throat and lips where, and turned his head cautiously. There was no additional pain in that motion at least. Dwalin quietly took his surroundings in, noticing how he must have a tent for himself, judging by how small it seemed to him from the inside. Everything was bathed in a soft warm light, lamps and the tent’s cloth creating a strange twilight around him. 

Dwalin didn’t notice the Dwarf sitting by his bedside until he had turned his head to the side fully. They were hunched over, arms folded on the edge of Dwalin’s bed, their head rested against them. Their hair was sticking up from the back of their head strangely, and Dwalin couldn’t quite make sense of them for a moment. There were no braids to indicate whether it was a healer by his side, or someone else.

When Dwalin made a quiet croak of a noise in an attempt to ask about how bad his injuries where, the Dwarf’s head snapped up. 

Nori gasped a sigh in relief and Dwalin’s brow furrowed slightly as he tried to understand what he was seeing. 

“Bless Mahal, you’re finally awake,” Nori breathed, and reached out to rest his hand against Dwalin’s shoulder gently. He looked so exhausted, so vulnerable, hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead in a mess. 

Finally Dwalin’s brain caught up to what he was seeing. 

“Your hair. _Nori_ -”

It was _cut_ , ragged and with no finesse at all, uneven in its length, as if he’d braided his hair and cut it off at the base with no more thought wasted on it. 

Dwalin’s breath caught in his throat, and for a few moments he couldn’t breathe. 

‘ _-and your braid for love_ ’

Would Nori have cut his braid just because of Dwalin? Thinking he was dead, like so many others no doubt. Cutting it all… But he was _alive_ , surely Nori wouldn’t have had anyone else die who meant this much-

“Nori,” Dwalin whispered, suddenly feeling the pain in his body flare up harsher as tears filled his eyes. 

“It’s all good,” Nori soothed, petting Dwalin’s cheek gently. His hand found Dwalin’s, where it rested against the blanket, and twined their fingers together. 

“You’ll be fine, the healers said you got lucky with that injury on your-”

“What happened to your braid?” Dwalin asked, desperate now. 

Nori paused for a moment, watching him. Dwalin tried to continue.

“It’s… gone. Did you- I’m alive, Nori I’m _alive_.”

“I cut it in battle,” Nori said, voice bitter but his touch against Dwalin’s cheek gentle. “Some brutish Orc grabbed me somehow and I couldn’t get away fast enough so I decided to just… cut it. Better than waste time I suppose.”

Dwalin closed his eyes and let out a pained breath. 

He shouldn’t have assumed Nori would cut his hair off in grief so quickly. He knew how proud his Dwarf was of his gorgeous mane after all. 

There was silence between them for a while, and only Nori’s thumb ran over Dwalin’s skin gently, stroking him for some comfort. 

“Did you think I cut my braid in mourning?” he asked after a while, and Dwalin felt too ashamed for presuming such to speak. 

Again silence fell over them but Nori didn’t pull his hand away. When Dwalin looked at him again Nori’s head was bowed and he looked so much more tired. 

“Would you? Cut your hair if you lost someone you love?” Dwalin dared to ask after a while, and Nori didn’t reply for a few moments, thinking it through. 

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I don’t know if I could bear the idea of… well if you were gone, and thinking you’d never run your hand through my hair again, telling me how beautiful I am. I don’t know if I’d… want that.”

Nori’s voice broke slightly. 

“I saw you fall, back on the battlefield. There were others rushing to your aid but I couldn’t tell if they’d be there on time, and I was the closest one. I could have fought, I could have managed to slice that Orc’s hand off, but in that moment cutting what he was grabbing seemed quicker.”

He looked away, and Dwalin somehow thought that Nori looked as if he was hiding his embarrassment. It couldn’t be though, as there was nothing shameful about how _he_ had acted. 

“I’m not leaving,” Dwalin said after a few moments. He tried to think of some praise for Nori’s quick actions, or reassurance, but that was all he could make himself say. 

“I love you.”

Nori leaned closer, resting his head on his arm again, but close enough that his nose nearly touched Dwalin’s. 

It took some effort to try and move his his arm to turn it so he could manage to squeeze Nori’s hand that still touched Dwalin’s. 

Nori moved in closer for a moment, to kiss Dwalin’s forehead, and even in the silence of the tent Dwalin wasn’t quite sure if he did hear a barely audible ‘ _I love you_ ’ from his thief or no, but whether Nori actually said anything out loud didn’t matter. They rested their foreheads together and Dwalin smiled quietly, not needing anything more.


End file.
